


Beneath the Singing Sky

by gleamingandwholeanddeadly (something_safe)



Series: Hellish Instruments [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical imagery, Curtain Fic, Hannibal is a princess, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post Season 4, Post-TWOTL, Suggested PTSD, Will is not so good with the romance, canon-typical violence (flashbacks), canon-typical weirdo relationship, flirting with psychiatry, panic flashbacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 21:17:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9091153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/something_safe/pseuds/gleamingandwholeanddeadly
Summary: Hannibal and Will celebrate their six month anniversary. Cue sharing chores, bickering, and having very different ideas of what 'celebrating' actually entails.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a present for the Hannigram Holiday Exchange, written for liminalotl! It reads as a standalone fic but is also a continuation of A Crown of Broken Bone. Sorry for any slightly unrealistic depictions of hiking in Finland, y'all. Also for any dodgy Finnish.

The snow comes, and with it, a peace of mind Will hasn’t experienced since he pulled Hannibal over the edge with him.

He thinks about that night often, and six months later, when he wakes up curled close to another warm body in the cold attic space of their bedroom, he revisits the memory once more. The searing thrill of adrenaline; the slick heat of his own blood, of Hannibal’s blood. The way Hannibal’s arms had tightened around him as soon as he saw where they were going, knowing that he was going with him, following him, just as he always had. Coming to terms with Hannibal’s strange devotion has been one of the hardest things Will has ever had to do, and it started long before the day he’d turned himself in, content to wait for the day Will had come back for him.

Will doesn’t remember much else of going over the cliff but heart-stopping terror and cold, cold waves around him, but he still thinks about it, almost as often as he breathes. He’s almost certain Hannibal does the same. He’s completely certain Hannibal knows what this day is, too, though he’d said nothing when he’d kissed Will’s forehead and peeled out of bed that morning to shower. He supposes half a year isn’t so significant to someone like Hannibal, but as far as Will is concerned, it’s long enough. Six months of freedom, six months since he shed his old life, his old family, his old morals, like a snake. He feels the weight of the oppressively obvious Persephone metaphor, and wonders if he will have to return from the Underworld soon, to bring spring to the dark corners of his mind.

Except it is winter here now, and the last six months have been nothing but sunlight and a carefully maintained balance; a steady finding of feet. If Will is Persephone, he isn’t so sure there will be any more Springs to come, not for anyone else. He has spent so long being relentlessly selfless, he’s not sure he could go back to that now he’s had a taste of what he would hesitantly describe as happiness.

They are quiet together now as they prepare for breakfast, Hannibal cooking and chopping as Will washes any pot that gets passed his way. The silence is so full of thoughts Will can almost see them; oftentimes thinks he can, when Hannibal’s marblesque face is dark and focused on his task, that subhuman part of him whirling away behind the doctor, the lover, the socialite. They burst and flare like sparks on the edges of his vision, accompanied by the trickle of water; the clatter of wood on steel. 

Glancing over his shoulder, Will spies Hannibal’s empty coffee cup and automatically dries his hands and moves to refill it, caught up with washing for now. As he sets it down close by his elbow, Hannibal sends him a glance, and Will sees the exact moment his thoughts turn dark to light, reflected in his maroon brown eyes. Currently, Hannibal looks more unkempt than Will’s ever seen him, fair hair spiked around his jawline and chin dotted with silver stubble, and though Will had assumed that going without a professional barber would infuriate him, Hannibal seems to be almost enjoying wearing someone else’s skin- figuratively, for now. 

When they had first arrived, before they really had a plan all those months ago, Will had been cringe-worthily unprepared. In the tiny village down the highway, Kaamanen, a good drive from the house they’d rented, Hannibal introduced them to a local shopkeeper as a couple who married in Denmark after meeting whilst travelling. It was a lie he produced suspiciously quickly (and in almost perfect modern Finnish) whilst Will smiled thinly beside him. 

“Whose last name did we take, _darling_?” He’d gritted as they’d walked toward the car, after replenishing their depleted supplies from the tiny general store, miles away from any of the other stores but still bustling enough that Will had felt uncomfortable. He didn’t speak Finnish- isn’t much better at it now- but he’d picked up _aviomieheni_ , a phrase Hannibal had used often enough for Will to Google it in reluctant curiosity. Hannibal had smiled pressed a kiss to his cold-flushed cheek.

“Mine of course, _rakas_. It even says it on our passports.”

Will had checked later, and it fucking did. He still marvels now at Hannibal’s complete lack of nervousness in picking and procuring their new identities. He assumes that while he himself had spent many days sleeping and mourning his old life after The Fall (capitalised in his mind, immediately and unconsciously), Hannibal had simply started to build their new one together, complete with fictional history. 

Sitting down at the table, Will keeps thinking about it as he sets out cutlery and table mats; accepts a warm snout against his thigh with a slight smile: their deerhound, Maera, checking in. Plating up with a flourish, Hannibal moves over with a tray, setting Will’s plate down in front of him and accompanying it with a small vase, containing a single white peony flower. 

Failing to keep his eyebrows from raising, Will looks at Hannibal, who smiles more with his eyes than his mouth, pleased to have surprised him. 

“A peony. That’s a little mainstream for you, Hannibal.”

That gets him a warm, thoughtful hum. It’s always amazed Will that Hannibal could kill, cook, and eat a man over a wrong look, but he plays for Will’s prickliness like it’s the highest form of reverent praise. 

“As you have said to me many times, Will, we are on a budget. Besides.” He braces one hand on the back of Will’s chair, lowering his mouth to murmur against his ear. “The peony represents so many meanings. Love, honour.”

“Shame,” Will points out, dryly, “bad luck, in some cultures.”

“Good luck in others.”

“I suppose we’ll have to see which one is right.” Will is not an idiot. He knows all of the meanings of peonies. Specifically the one Hannibal will have in mind. “Is this your way of telling me you wish we were married?”

“We are married, according to the certificate in my bedside.”

“Which was forged, and is not recognised in this country, won’t be until 2017.”

“As far as I’m concerned…” Hannibal’s breath heats the sensitive skin beneath Will’s ear, and he presses a kiss there, where there’s a window of flesh between Will’s beard and his hairline, “we were married the second we shared blood, and flesh, beneath the moonlight.”

Will has long since stopped being surprised by Hannibal’s romanticism, but it does make him a little breathless to behold it. An animal as feral as Hannibal should not be capable of this kind of intimacy, and yet here he is, smoothing one warm hand under Will’s t-shirt, to feel the bracket of white, dimpled scar tissue. 

“That makes it a double anniversary then, I suppose.” Will smiles, and Hannibal does too, plush and smug. He lifts his hand from Will’s stomach, to skim his thumb over the scar his facial hair almost hides.

“Of just one of our many milestones. Happy anniversary, Will.”

They share a kiss, hot and all too brief, and then Hannibal retreats to his place at the table opposite Will, shaking out his napkin to lay on his thighs. Beside Will, Maera lets out a long, almost embarrassed sigh and even Hannibal smirks a little as he cuts into his breakfast. Will takes longer to shake off the keen heat in his belly, but he does, sitting up and taking a sip of his coffee before starting on the bacon on his plate. The local store is good enough for vegetables and dried goods, but usually they hunt their own meat. 

“We should do something later,” Will says, with an easy shrug, “to celebrate.” 

Celebrating is as foreign a concept to him as any pleasant familial process ever was, but Hannibal excels at it, and Will knows he needs an opportunity every now and then. 

He nods pertly at the suggestion, chewing steadily and swallowing before he answers.

“Nothing too outlandish, Will, remember? We are keeping a low profile.” 

Will chuffs a laugh. “Yeah, because I’m so ostentatious. I was thinking camping. Sorta.”

“Camping.” Hannibal takes a sip of his coffee, nose wrinkling like he’s smelt something foul, “I’m not sure my back could take it.”

“Just for a hike then. We’ll take the tent and some dinner. I want to show you something.” Will tries not to let his enthusiasm for the idea show too much. Hannibal is not a stranger to cold weather or roughing it, what little Will knows of his boyhood tells him that much, but he prefers to be warm and clean where possible now he has the option. 

The faint dangle of ‘something’ has intrigued Hannibal, though. He tilts his head like a bird. 

“Hiking.”

“You don’t like hiking? It’s to see something.”

“There are not many things I haven’t seen, Will.”

“Trust me, you haven’t seen this.” Will promises gently. “What do you think? We’ll make dinner together and then walk the dog up to the lake.”

“That doesn’t sound overly special.” Hannibal sounds like he’s agreeing even as he disagrees. 

“It will be, I promise.” Will smiles.

“All right.” Hannibal nods. “Dinner in the woods then. What a treat.”

He sounds snippy enough that Will laughs into his coffee. Maera yips excitedly.

*

It is not lost on Will that he and Hannibal have scarcely been separated since Will had broken Hannibal out of prison. The brief flashes of consciousness Will held onto whilst gripped by the waves all showed him stark memories of clutching Hannibal’s hands. When he’d awoken alone in the dark, the scent of damp wood and salt pressing in on him, he’d felt a bright flare of cold, echoing fear. The ocean had spilled in through the windows in his sleep, and as he thrashed to be free of the foam, Hannibal had flicked on the light to illuminate the empty cabin; set his hands on Will’s shoulders and showed the barest flinch of hurt when he’d recoiled. 

Will remembers still feeling wet from the ocean, salty skinned and haired. It’d taken him a few long minutes to realise he had just sweated through his sheets. He can still clearly recall Hannibal’s grey face in the tinny light of the cabin, his brow sheened with sweat too, from pain rather than terror. Will had acquired several broken ribs to go with the scars that The Dragon had given him, but Hannibal had a bullet wound and a broken wrist and collarbone to contend with, too.

“The pain is a small price to pay,” he’d said, and Will knew that he meant it. They’d set bones and stitched wounds as best they could that night, using the medical supplies and alcohol they had found in the kitchenette of the cabin. It had been a storm hideaway for a fisherman, Hannibal said faintly, while Will tended the worst of his wounds. Will still remembers the feeling of digging around in Hannibal’s skin for shards of bullet; watching him retch and grit against the pain. It was the most human he’d ever seen him look.

“Are you thinking of that night?” Hannibal asks softly, jarring Will out of his reverie. They’re in the kitchen again, and Will looks down and finds himself brewing tea. He does not remember having started the task, nor being asked. 

“The cabin,” he supplies softly. Hannibal is watching him from where he is slicing bread and figs, packing them into a cooler with cheese and a couple of other tubs. He tilts his head again at the words, humming and tossing a scrap of torn bread crust to the dog carelessly. 

“It is one of my favourite places to revisit, also,” he admits, voice low and musical. “Although we were so close to death, I felt the beating of your heart encouraging mine. Knowing we had both survived this long felt like fate to me. Being reuinited felt like a blessing not to be wasted.”

Will doesn’t know what to say, first for a moment, and then at all. He’s constantly bewildered by Hannibal’s dedication. Never surprised though. 

He leans over the counter to kiss him, hands cupping his jaw, and Hannibal’s fingers curl into the front of his cardigan. It’s long and drugging and slow, and when they pull apart, Hannibal’s sharp canines snag at Will’s lower lip, pinching a gasp out of him. 

“Being here with you,” Will tells him, when his feelings swell too quickly in his chest for him to keep them back, “it’s- all I want. Anywhere. Where you are. That’s where I want to be. Even if we get separated, even if we die- I always want to be where you are.”

Hannibal tilts his chin up gently with his thumb to meet his gaze, and Will mentally compares his eyes with the colour of dried blood. Hannibal’s mouth thins in a small smile.

“We will always find one another in that cabin.”

They stay like that a moment longer, and then Hannibal pulls away to pack the rest of their dinner; gestures for Will to continue making tea. He pours it into a thermos and slots it and the packed food into a backpack. They wash up, and then silently put on their outwear in preparation for their long hike up to the lake. 

*

“The trees here are so tall, they must have been here for centuries. Did you know you can count the rings inside of a felled tree to see how old it is?”

Will did know that. 

“That’s interesting, Hannibal.” He plucks a couple more likely looking sticks from the ground, adding them to the growing bundle in his arms. Hannibal is carrying wood too, to his apparent disdain. He has been diplomatically remarking on the scenery for the last hour, and though the content of his conversation is pleasant, there is a slightly pouty edge to his tone that makes Will pressingly aware of how little Hannibal really likes to be outside. 

“It’s not much further,” he promises, watching Maera weave in and out of the trees ahead of them. The dark is gathering, but the firey sky is cloudless and the moon is shining down on the snow, setting the landscape aglow. Distantly, Will hears a wolf howl, and a series of answering calls even further away. He feels Hannibal stall a little beside him. “Don’t worry, I brought a rifle, but they’re usually very wary of humans.”

Hannibal’s voice is slightly steelier now.

“I appreciate your heroics, Will, I hope you will forgive me if I seem perturbed by the thought of hungry pack animals, regardless.”

“I hike up here all the time and I’ve never even caught a glimpse,” Will assures him, “besides, you’re scarier than anything in these woods.”

“I’m flattered that you think so.” Although he’s trying to be facetious, Hannibal looks genuinely amused at the thought. They keep walking for a while longer, and by the time they get to the ice-crusted lake, the moon is a blinding white disc in the star sprayed sky. Will finds a spot out of the wind to erect the tent, and then unties the kindling from his backpack to start building a fire at the base of a tall spruce. Hannibal ducks neatly into the tent, and Will hears him muttering as he lays down blankets inside. Close by, Maera snuffles and forages, grey furred muzzle powdered with snow. It makes Will soft-hearted to watch her, her tail cautiously wagging, and he does so for a long time before starting to gather stones from the frozen lake edge to lay grounds for the fire.

Fire pit dug, Will sits on his haunches to light the kindling, blowing gently to oxygenate the flames. As the sticks catch, Will pulls his glove back and checks the time. The forecast he checked says they’re about on schedule. Satisfied, he returns to the fire, feeding it the wood they gathered until it spits and roars. It will be a while before it really starts to give off heat, but hopefully not too long. Hefting one more large log onto the flames, Will leaves it to grow, getting up to poke his head into the tent. Hannibal’s expression makes him immediately laugh when he sees him, hugging his own arms for warmth.

“I brought Scotch?” He offers, when he’s stopped laughing. Hannibal gives him a disapproving look. “And I got the fire going?”

“Very well.” Hannibal relents. “Then we can eat and leave.”

“Then we can eat and leave,” Will nods, holding the flap back for Hannibal scootch inelegantly to the mouth of the tent, snow clinging to his boots and gloves. He flicks them off, gathering the blankets to make a suitably thick barrier between backside and frozen ground. Shaking his head, Will just grabs Hannibal’s backpack and starts to unpack dinner.

They eat by the fire, under the stars. Hannibal gradually relaxes as the fire grows warmer, voice softening again to that murmur, like a slow running brook. He talks to Will seriously and honestly about his childhood, his first kill, his first great meal, and Will finds himself as endlessly fascinated by him as he ever has been. The fact that he, a Louisiana-born redneck with bad posture, ended up on the run with a Lithuanian Count whose resume includes playing the harp and killing a man with a cheese wire, provides him with endless thoughtfulness. 

They’re sat in the mouth of the tent, working their way through the hip flask of Scotch Will brought with him, when the first ribbon of light weaves its way across the sky. Will barely processes it at first, and then another, fiercer light grabs his attention. Hannibal looks up too, as a marbled streak of green starts to shiver against the stars. It’s faint, and far away, but beautiful.

“I didn’t think we’d be able to see them this far down,” Hannibal says, voice full of awe.

“We’d have to hike further to see them well, and we don’t have the proper equipment right now- plus we’d need to stay the night and it isn’t safe to camp. We shouldn’t stay much longer when it’s this cold anyway.” Will sighs out a cloud of frosty white. “I just wanted you to see them tonight. It said on the forecast they’d be clearer than they usually are this time of year.”

“It’s beautiful,” Hannibal breathes, still watching the dream-like smears of light dancing, the glow reflected in his eyes. “So much energy, travelling across the cold recesses of space to where our lowly human eyes might glimpse a moment of divinity. I like to think sometimes that when I am gone, my energy will keep making waves like this.”

“So keeping it humble, as usual,” Will jokes, with a restrained grin. Hannibal crooks his mouth, flicking him a fond look of reproach. 

“It is my firm belief that my atoms will rejoin the soil when I’m gone, and that some parts of me will travel far beyond my human body ever did,” he says, wistfully. “I only hope that somewhere, somehow, I know it.”

“At least you can know, here and now, that you made waves in my life.” He means it as a joke, but it’s a painfully sad truth when he says it aloud. Will takes another gulp of whiskey to hide his embarrassment.

“As you have in mine,” is all Hannibal says, smooth and sincere. He takes Will’s gloved hand and squeezes, and they look up at the sky again, shadowed faces flickering with the light of the fire and the wavering aurora above. 

Will watches the sky writhe, and those feelings rise inside him again, like a liquid rapidly boiling over. 

“What you said before- about it feeling like a blessing,” he says, swallowing his nervousness. “I think it was a blessing too. I always felt like finding you again was a blessing. When I met you- when we were just friends. And then in Florence too-”

“I know, Will.” Hannibal fixes him with his warm gaze again. “I know that.”

Will quiets. Near the fire, Maera stretches and then yawns, nosing yearningly at a tupperware box she has already licked clean. Both Hannibal and Will huff a laugh.

“Must be nice, musn’t it?” Will muses, watching her. “To have your only big question be ‘where is the food’.”

“I suppose so. Mankind is arguably doomed by its own intelligence, and it drives us to self sabotage and madness. We are the snake that consumes itself.” Hannibal sounds a little weary at the thought. “Still, at least we get to wear clothes.”

His glibness is so sudden it makes Will laugh again. He leans his shoulder against Hannibal’s, eyes drifting back towards the glittering heavens again. 

“At least we dug out our own little patch of madness,” he says absently. “Not many people get this.”

“I daresay no one has ever had what we have,” Hannibal says, sounding pleased by the notion. “Sometimes I think you and I are the only real people on this earth, surrounded by pale ghosts.” He puts an arm around Will. Out here in the crisp, still air, beneath the singing sky, it feels true.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Will commits every feeling to memory. 

“We better go,” he says eventually, passing Hannibal the flask, “the temperature is dropping and I don’t want it to snow on us before we get home.”

“If we must.” Hannibal hides his smile badly. They both silently pack up, scraping snow over the fire to kill the embers, before starting the trek back home. 

*

It’s late when they get home, and Will has the same heart-wrenching moment of anticipation he always has when they head inside: fear of being discovered, of their lives being ripped from under them. Regardless, the house is quiet and undisturbed as always. 

“Six months of inactivity usually suggests the trail went cold,” he tells himself, as he strips off his coat and fleeces in the hall, stuffing them away into the coat closet.

“I’ve told you. Jack has no way of knowing where we ended up after we disposed of Frances. We were very careful about that.”

“I know. I know.” Will hums at the solid warmth of Hannibal behind him, leaning to put his own coat away. They set the dog to bed in the warmest nook in the living room, then head up to bed. Will strips off his shirt once they’re in the bedroom, getting changed as Hannibal washes up and brushes his teeth in the bathroom. When he’s done, they trade. Will comes out of the en suite in time to see Hannibal’s scarred back rippling as he pulls up his pyjama pants. He reaches out automatically to touch, and Hannibal makes a soft noise of appreciation. Will’s eyes scan the familiar scars, and he feels a sourness sting the tip of his tongue at the sound sitting there. 

“I want to burn the word ‘Verger’ off you,” he says, quietly. His fingers trail over the raised edges of the brand; the newer scars from last year. 

A surprised silence follows. Will is as surprised as Hannibal seems to be: he’s never let himself say that before.

“I would not be opposed to that,” Hannibal tells him, voice amusingly clinical, “tell me Will, do you wish to remove Mason’s brand, or leave one of your own?”

He turns to face him. Will feels his face heating up.

“Which answer would you prefer?”

“I think you know which.”

“I don’t want to hurt you anymore, Hannibal.”

“I know that.” He smiles, and it’s so openly adoring Will’s heart hurts. “Sometimes hurting someone is a way of showing we love them, though.”

“You’re the expert on that,” Will smiles. Hannibal’s hand automatically drifts back to his stomach. 

“The marks we leave on one another are indelible reminders of how permanent a presence we are in one another’s lives. We often brand those we love, even if only metaphorically.”

“I haven’t physically branded you yet, Doctor.” Will rolls his eyes a bit.

“Yes, which is why it irks you so deeply that Mason did.”

Will sighs.

“That can’t be a new assessment, I’ve always hated that brand.”

“It only recently occurred to me the true extent of how much. Even more than I did, Mason branded everything you loved or thought of loving, and tainted it in some way.”

“That’s not a particularly difficult conclusion to draw.” Will huffs, nosing in to feel Hannibal’s stubble scraping his own; to feel his realness. Hannibal puts his hands on his waist and drags them up his back, and Will feels himself flushing just at their proximity; the tight, embarrassed heat Hannibal’s psychiatric proddings always bring out in him.

“One day, when you’re ready, I’ll let you change the mark,” Hannibal whispers. Will feels himself grow breathless and bloodless all at once. Hannibal’s voice always makes flowers bloom between the bones of Will’s mind, filling up the shadows, bringing the Spring again. 

“All right,” he whispers. Hannibal smiles and kisses him, like a prayer, like a promise. His hands cup Will’s shoulder blades, skin radiating heat.

“Thank you for taking me to see the aurora borealis,” he murmurs, “I’ve seen a few glimpses of it before but never like that. I spend so much time feeling unconquerable and immortal with you. Being reminded of my place in the world is grounding, and comforting. You have always given me that.”

“You’re welcome. And same.” Will means it. He could never really lie to Hannibal about anything. It makes Hannibal smile that cat-like smile again, deeply satisfied.

“Happy Anniversary, Will,” he whispers. Will smiles too, and meets him in another deep kiss.


End file.
